


Regrets

by KidaCakes



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a happy-ish ending, Canon Compliant, Explicit Language, Fake Character Death, M/M, Sad old men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8335624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KidaCakes/pseuds/KidaCakes
Summary: Morty finds Rick in the kitchen, more drunk than usual. Rick drinks to forget and to soothe old wounds. Morty finds the courage to ask him for the reason, and this time Rick obliges. Afterwards, Rick tries to find closure on one of his biggest regrets, and this time he may have a second chance.





	1. From the Past...

**Author's Note:**

> Third fic for the Stanchez Micro-Bang! Other fics and art [here](http://stanchez-bang.tumblr.com)!
> 
> [Awesome Art](http://professor-candy-corn.tumblr.com/post/151938882740/) by [Professor-Cinnamon-Roll](http://professor-candy-corn.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> **Big** shout out to my betas @beta_19 and @Stellar_Anarchist

“H-Hey Rick, what-what are you doing?” Morty asked as he came into the kitchen, seeing his grandfather there. 

It was well past midnight, the rest of the family was asleep. Morty should have been too but a late night glass of water was calling his name. He wasn't surprised Rick was up; it seemed he was always up, day or night, unless he was passed out drunk. Morty could say goodnight to his grandfather at midnight only be woken up at four in the morning for some crazy adventure, and be back in time for breakfast with him being barely functional but Rick performing at normal capacity. Rick being up really wasn't the surprise. It was seeing him rooting around in the kitchen that was out of place. At night, unless he was dragging Morty off on an adventure, Rick was usually in the garage or his room or occasionally the living room, watching interdimensional cable.

Rick stopped his search to look at his grandson. He stood up from where he had been digging through a cupboard, swaying heavily before he caught himself on the counter. 

“M-Mo _oourgh_ rty, I'm just, y’know, looking for some, uh, some snacks. I think Jerry took my Eyeholes again, the-the prick,” Rick was able to slur out, swaying even while anchoring himself to the counter. 

It was a night of heavy drinking. Well, heavier than Rick's usual heavy drinking. Morty liked to think he knew his grandpa pretty well, better than his other family members, to say the least. Yet the reason why Rick tried so hard to escape reality with his drug and alcohol abuse still escaped Morty. He didn't know what “great pain” Rick was in, according to Bird Person, nor did he know much about his past. All he knew was that he had gotten married, had his mom, left when his mom was young, now he was back and living in their guest room. Mom didn't talk much about him before he came back and if they brought anything up she would cry into a glass of wine. Rick seemed like a man with a dark and painful past that he kept hidden for everyone else’s sake.

Apparently, whatever it is in his past he chose to hide was eating him alive from the inside out.

Morty made his way over to Rick's snack cabinet, opening it and seeing the box of Eyeholes front and center. He hesitated - not wanting to deal with the alien that broke into people's houses for eating his Eyeholes - then just grabbed the treat and held them out for Rick to take, giving the box a little shake to get the older man’s focus. Which, he did, after a few failed attempts at grabbing the box. Drinking and depth perception didn't go hand in hand.

Rick chuckled and burped, tipping the box back and letting the Eyeholes fall into his mouth before chewing obnoxiously loud and with his mouth partially open. He put the box on the counter with more force than necessary, probably more than he meant to, before grabbing his ever present flask from inside his lab coat, washing the Eyeholes down with a few swigs of his poison of choice for the night. 

“Must have, must have missed them, heh, Morty. Y-y-you’re a good kid, Morty, a go _oough_ od kid.”

“Uh, thanks Rick,” Morty said awkwardly before pausing for a few moments. He knew better than to ask what he was going to but he figured what was the worst that could happen? Rick blowing him off and cursing? 

Morty gulped before speaking again. “Uh, Rick? W-why do you drink so much, Rick?” 

It seemed like the question didn't register to Rick at first.He swayed, flask in hand, before his eyes focused on Morty, realizing he was expected to answer. “To-to get wrecked, Morty. Grandpa likes to party, Mooorty,” Rick said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“N-no, Rick, I-I-I know you like to party and shit. But wh-wh-why do you drink alone? A-and so much? What’s so bad that you wanna, you gotta drink so much?” Morty fidgeted, looking around before settling his gaze back on his inebriated grandfather.

Rick narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he looked hard at his grandson. Then he sighed deeply, sagging against the counter, like the weight of the Multiverse were on his shoulders. It was one of the few times that Morty had seen his grandpa look his age. It made Morty uncomfortable and he fidgeted more.

“Because, Mooorty, I have to deal with a little shit like you all the, all the time." It was what Morty expected - at least somewhat - Rick to say. But it held none of the usual sharpness or bitter bite to it. 

"N-nothing really matters. Everything-" Rick gestured with a wide swing of his arm, "- amounts to-to shit. All of it. Sometimes it's better to forget abo-- d-don't think about it." Rick said with his eyes on his flask, almost daring it to tell him different, taking a large gulp from it after a moment.

“Aww jeez, Rick, I-I know that but there's some good stuff about life too, y-you know.” Morty countered, surprised that Rick was not just brushing him off but still not giving him a clear reason. 

“I’ve seen a-a lot of shit, Morty, a lot of shit that'd make you piss yourself. I've done a lot of-- a ton of horrible things that would make the devil shudder, Mo _oouugh_ rty. I-I’ve run away... from-from a lotta shit in my life, Morty. Th-there's a lotta shit. I-- a lotta regret, Morty, there's a lotta... lotta regret there." Rick said, the last part a sigh. His shoulders curved forward, looking even older and more like a man that has had danced with demons for most of his life.

“I left y-your mom and grandma to fight for a better life for them. I've _killed_ people, lots… a lotta people. I've gotta-gotta lot of blood on my hands, Morty, a lot. Like, fuck, you've seen me murder and-and that's just a drop in the, in the fucking bucket, Morty, a fucking drop. Fucking genocide, Morty, and that shit doesn't even phase your ol' grandpa here. You wanna know what... what makes me feel the worst? Worse than destroying entire unive _eeergh_ rses ever could? It's fucking love, Morty, fucking gay ass shit like that. I had the love of my life, Morty, and I... I fucking left 'em. That... That hurts me worse than anything else I've done in my messed up life, Morty. You can't tell me that's not-not fucked up." He slammed his drink back, burping and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes were glassy and hard, his mouth set in a thin line with corners that curved downwards. 

Morty's eyes widened, honestly beyond surprised that Rick divulged so much of his past to him. It was sort of what Morty expected. Well, the killing. He's seen Rick kill people and aliens without hesitation; only someone that has killed many could do that. He also knew he left his mom and grandma but didn't know the reason why, apparently it was to fight, maybe in that rebellion against the Federation, which would explain why he didn't like government. But, the love of his life? Love? Rick Sanchez and love didn't mix.

“W-why did you leave them? Th-the love of your life?” Morty's eyes widened even more as he had a sudden epiphany. “W-w-was it Grandma? O-or Unity?”

Rick laughed but it held no mirth; a cold and bitter laugh that made Morty's heart hurt. “Your grandma was a-a wonderful lady, Morty, there was a reason w-we got married. She has a special place for the brief life we shared,” Rick said with a soft smile. “And Unity? N-no. Unity and I had a thing - a really good thing - but it... Unity wasn't the love of my life.” Rick took a deep pull of his flask.

“No... we met just as I got into traveling the Multive _eerrup_ rse, still living life on Earth most of the time. I-I was... in a bad place, so was he. Both at rock bottom with no way-- what looked like no way to climb up. We, heh, we were fucking bums, living out of his car or whatever shitty motel we could scrape eno _ooorrgh_ ugh money together to afford. But... we were happy.” A sad smile played on Rick's lips before it was wiped away, the bitter look returning almost as quickly as it left. 

It broke Morty's heart, seeing that smile, knowing that this was a side that his grandpa didn't show anyone. He felt privileged to be let in past the multitude of walls that Rick had built up. Yet, he was saddened that beyond all those walls there were only memories of blood and death and bittersweet moments. Great pain, indeed. The new revelations of his grandfather’s past and what he already knew of Rick’s preferences made it easy to accept that the love of his life was a guy. From the way Rick put it, sounded like he was human as well. 

Rick turned around, his back to Morty with his shoulders hunched over even more, another drink from his flask that he banged on the counter. Morty jumped at the sound but didn't speak; fearing that if he did, whatever valve he turned would be turned back, shutting off the flow of personal information that his grandfather was pouring out.

“Y-y-you gotta understand,” Rick said, though, Morty didn't feel like it was directed at him,” we were young and bro _uuurgh_ ke and hurt. Life already gave us raw deals already, like really raw, and we-we were playing with a rigged deck. B-but, heh... heh, that didn't mean we couldn't cheat right back.” Rick paused and Morty could almost hear the smile in his voice, which made his heart pang. 

“Fuck, just, he was... amazing,” Rick sighed out, if Morty didn't know better he sounded like a dreamy, lovestruck teenager.. “Strong and confident but smart too. He was a twin, y'know? He was the talented one. Got, got charisma out the wa- _uuurp_ -wazoo. Had a brother who was, who was supposed to be some uppity genius or, or some shit, but y'know, Morty, genius is more than just booksmarts. My guy... this guy was-was great. He-he could make the best forgeries I've ever see - driver's licenses, passports, certificates - you name it, he could make it and pass it by most, by _any_ pencil pusher government lackey.”

Rick leaned against the counter more, head dropping so Morty couldn't even see the bald spot. Rick heaved another soulful sigh, shoulders slumped. The posture spoke volumes. Whatever wall he had built was gone and Morty felt like he was going to see just a little bit more of Rick Sanchez. But what lay at the core of his being was... love? Despite his disbelief, Morty stayed silent and continued to listen.

“I... I got involved with some friends I made off-world, we got a band together, it was f-fu _uuurp_ cking sweet, Morty. H-he even followed-- he even came to watch us play sometimes. He hated - _hated_ \- our type of music. But, y-y-you know he still came to every big gig we had without fail? And he cheered when we played like we were the best. L-L-Like I was the best. Ha, he even made and sold our merch!” Rick laughed, obviously remembering a time long ago with less damage and bloodshed under his belt, an unguarded laugh Morty wished he could have seen Rick’s face. It would have been a sight to see. 

“If, y-y-you know, you were so happy why did you, uh, leave?” Morty asked, which he instantly regretted. The way Rick’s shoulders slumped, his whole body slumped, and the sudden joy was replaced by an oppressive aura of depression and remorse. 

“Life sucks, Morty. Y-you think you're doing the right thing at the time and it... and it all ends bad. Real bad. I thought... I thought he’d be better - safer, at least - if I, I left… Not being around me was for the, for the be _uuurgh_ st. That's what I thought but it… but it didn't turn out like that.” Rick's tone grew steadily quieter until he was mumbling near the end. 

“How… What happened, R-Rick?” Morty whispered.

“I don't ev-even know if he, if he had a funeral or not. I never went to check, not even to visit his grave. I... I just couldn't, Morty. I thought if I left he'd be okay. He'd be safe and happy and forget me. Now I can't forget him unless I'm sh-shitfaced.” Rick chuckled sadly, head tilting back as he stared at the ceiling, taking another swig off his flask. 

“People, Mo _oourgh_ rty… People tell themselves some pretty stupid lies to-to justify the fu-fucking stupid shit they do, Morty. But it's fear, Morty, fear that makes you do shit. Fear of… of-” Rick waved his hand around, searching for his next words, “-of dying, of commitment, of emotions, of-of fucking not wanting to wear the wrong stupid shirt or, or some shit. Whatever you do, Morty, w-whatever happens, there's always doubt. And doubt is a little-little bitch, Morty, a real cu _uuugh_ nt. Really, really backfires on you sometimes, Morty, like… like the exact opposite of what you-- of your expectations just-just happens. Living like that is… is tiring, Morty. It's fucking exhausting. All that, all this doubt… I-it-it’s just easier not giving a shit, y’know? Th-the less you care, the less, the more, the less likely you'll… you’ll something. Shit.” Rick shook his flask, squinting at it. Enough for one last swig. Fuck.

Morty was rubbing his upper arm, his other hand fidgeting with the hem of his trademark yellow shirt. “Aww jeez, Rick, th-that’s some deep stuff to lay on a kid, y-y-you know? B-but, if it's doubt o-or fear that, uh, makes us do stuff, does that mean y-you’re afraid to go visit his grave? To, ah, to pay your l-last respects or something? O-or did you stop caring and didn't go at all?” 

Rick pushed away from the counter, wobbling a bit before striding past Morty, ruffling his curly hair with remarkable deftness before stopping at the doorframe of the kitchen. “J-just don't think about it, Morty. It's better just to forget-- to not think about it. You're a good kid, Morty, don't end up l-l-like your grandpa. Be better than me, Morty.” With that, Rick was gone.

Morty was left to himself, his thoughts, and to get the long forgotten glass of water he had originally came down for.

-

Rick sat next to his safe, the heavy door open, showing money, jewels, priceless minerals and ingredients. They were important to him, sure, but they were worthless in comparison to the crappy little cigar box that sat on his lap. The picture on the top flap was faded, worn away from years of abuse and age. Some smudges of marker that had been there bled until it was unrecognizable. Yet one spindly finger traced the black smudges before opening the flap, the binding threadbare. 

There wasn't much in the box. A matchbook from a dive bar, a pick to a guitar with the initials ‘TFC’ engraved in - Rick stroked the etched letters fondly - and a piece of a ripped shirt that had a dark stain on it. Those all held many, many fond and not so fond moments of his younger years. Then there was the picture. It was yellowed and frayed at the edges and a bit of the image had white little cracks but the two people in it were clear. Two young men in their 20s, one arm slung over each other's shoulders as they grinned at the camera. A lanky punk with piercings and eyeliner, black clothes that looked either too tight or too big on him and ripped, flipping the camera the bird as he stuck out his pierced tongue. The other was broader, especially in the shoulders and chest, thick arms, a huge square jaw, and a huge grin. He wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, his short hair shaggy. He had kind eyes and a swindler’s smile. Rick traced the man's jaw gently, trying to remember the warmth under his fingertips when he had touched it last. 

It was probably the happiest he'd ever been. Life was a bitch but they still had hope that they'd make life their bitch and take her for all she got. She took them instead. She took him for all he had. Even his last breath.

Rick put the picture back, eyes already watering but he blinked hard until they were gone again, hand reaching for a bottle of booze he snagged before sitting down. He gulped down a few mouthfuls before grunting, using the back of his hand to wipe away his spit before setting the bottle back on the floor. Liquid courage.

He lifted out a folded newspaper clipping which was yellowed like the photo but not as old. It felt like a hundred years ago and just yesterday that he’d read: 

**‘STAN PINES DEAD’**

And all they gave him was a measly little paragraph followed by a fucking fashion trend. It was a pathetic end to someone that was worth a billion words. Rick had made enemies, so had Lee, but Rick still felt like it was his fault.

Rick didn't even feel guilt for most of what he had a direct hand in fucking up. Guilt was a bitch. All it did was make him think stupid shit. Like he could have done _something_. Anything. Just, something to have saved his life. He shouldn't have left. He never left Lee when they had to run from state to state, changing names to avoid Lee’s enemies. Lee wouldn't have left him if he had just told him. He would have fought with him, had his back. And that's why he left. 

Lee didn't even go out fighting. The fucking cowards cut his brakes and he ended up dead. He wanted to make it big, be famous, get rich. He wanted to prove himself to be better than what he was told he was. And all he was now were a few unfeeling words on an old page to anyone that looked at it. He was larger than life. Brighter than a star. And he was so much more than that to Rick, always was more than he ever let on. He regretted never telling him so. 

Morty's words echoed in his head. _‘“B-but, if it's fear that, uh, makes us do stuff, does that mean y-you’re afraid to go visit his grave? To, ah, to pay your l-last respects or something? O-or did you stop caring and didn't go at all?”’_

Rick put the paper back in, carefully folding it and placing it gently down, like it was the most priceless and delicate object in the Multiverse. And, to Rick, it was. 

He grunted and staggered as he got up, gripping the bottle in trembling fingers. He grabbed his portal gun, punching in coordinates, before taking a deep breath and an even deeper gulp of liquor before making a portal appear.

“I-I’m coming, Lee, I'm coming back.” Rick walked through the portal.


	2. ...To the Present

Rick stumbled out of the portal, the alcohol and resurfaced emotions making his legs like jelly. The sun was just barely peeking above the horizon, bathing the world in dusky hues of blues and golds. He knew the only place he'd find what he was looking for would be here: the last place Lee was alive. 

He forced his legs to move, trying to keep the shaking and stumbling down to a minimum as he made his way into the diner, the only place open that could probably direct him in the right direction. There was only one other patron in the diner, being so early, and only two workers. A cook in the back and an older waitress with a lazy eye. He stumbled to the counter and sat on the stool heavily, having stashed the bottle of booze away in one of his many pockets. The waitress had a smile on as she came over to Rick.

“Ohhh hello there, handsome! I haven't seen you here before. New in town? What can I get you?” She asked in a chipper tone that grated Rick's ears but he decided that he'd get more information with honey than with his usual vinegar.

“Yeah, uh, Su-Susan, I-I just got into town. Looking for someone, m-maybe you can help me. Last name is Pines and he--” Rick didn't even get to finish before she crooned loudly.

“Ohhh! You know the Pines? Bunch of good looking men in that family! Wink.” She laughed, lifting her lazy eye’s eyelid and closing it in a forced wink before she continued. “You just missed the kids, went back home now that the summer's over. Such sweet kids. But the Pines brothers are still here for awhile! Though, they're leaving on a trip. Setting sail on the open ocean. Ahh, I wish I could go. But you came just in time if you're looking for a Pines brother!”

Rick listened as she spewed information like a sieve. Literally, probably the easiest Intel gathering he ever had. It worked in his favor, he didn't think he had the mental fortitude to try and charm anything out of her. 

“Uh, yeah. Could you te- _eeuuurrp_ -tell me where I can-- where to find the Pines?” Rick wouldn't be surprised if she drew him a map or took him there herself at this point. 

She ended up doing the former on the back of an order ticket. It wasn't too legible but she explained how to get there while she doodled the map. She also added her number with another lazy eye wink. Rick suppressed a shudder and thanked her before leaving. It was a bit of a walk to something called the Mystery Shack on the outskirts of town. He figured it'd give him enough time to sober up some and steel himself. 

He knew Lee had a twin that lived here. Lee had received a postcard one day asking him to come. It was weird and sudden since Lee hadn't seen or spoken to his twin in about a decade. Apparently he had made the decision to come, he wondered briefly if the were able to make up before his death. He also knew Lee had a little brother as well, who was only a baby when he was kicked out. That was probably the other Pines brother the waitress was talking about. It made him a bit uncomfortable thinking about meeting the family of his dead lover that he never met before. How do you casually ask someone where their dead brother was buried? 

Rick reached for the bottle in his lab coat, taking a pull before putting it back again. He should have just refilled his flask. By the time he got to the decrepit little tourist trap he was more sober than he was when he first got to town. Still inebriated but not as bad. Making the weight of the situation rest even more heavily on his shoulders and grip his pounding heart harder. The sun was now well on its way rising into the sky, the last bits of night disappearing from sight. He fidgeted a bit with his lab coat, trying to look a bit more presentable, wiping the drool from his lips, before knocking loudly on the door. And knocking again. And again. 

He heard a gruff voice yelling behind the door before locks clicked and the door swung open. He didn't know what to expect when the door open. He really didn't but his heart felt like it was going to burst.

The man before him was old, in his 60s, already sporting a five o'clock shadow and wearing a dirty wife beater and striped boxers. He had a gut on him, skinny legs, big arms, and broad chest. Buy the face, the face made him nearly cry. It had been decades but he could see the face of the man he loved before him. The square jaw, large nose, big ears, narrow eyes behind square glasses. This guy looked like his Lee, aged thirties. He knew it couldn't be, that his Lee was dead and gone and that this must be his twin but he couldn't stop himself from thinking it.

He couldn't stop himself from uttering a shaky, “L-Lee?” 

The man narrowed his eyes, looking Rick up and down, the fingers on the door twitching as if debating to slam the door closed or not. The man that looked so much like his lost love grunted and shifted before speaking.

“Lee? Never heard of ‘im. Got the wrong place, pal,” He said before starting to close the door.

Rick shoved the door back open, having made it this far, he wasn't about to have this old wound opened up for nothing. “Pines! St-Stanley Pines! I'm-I'm looking for-- I'm an old... friend of Stanley’s.” Rick finished lamely, knowing better than to blurt out he was an ex lover if he wanted any information. 

The shock of having the door forced open was outweighed by the shock and confusion of someone looking for Stanley Pines. The man's posture changed immediately; straightening up all the way, shoulders squared, eyes going from annoyance to why someone was bothering him this early to suspicion in a blink. He looked intimidating, reminding Rick of Lee all those years ago when he played bodyguard after a gig to the keep the fans in line.

“Stanley Pines doesn't have any friends. Why now? No one's been looking for ‘im in decades.” The man, Rick now assumed was Lee's twin, asked, squaring up even more like he was expecting a fight.

Rick couldn't help but chuckle a little, “Yeah, L-Lee didn't have many friends. I think I-I might've been his only one since he was kicked out. I just.. I never said goodbye to him,” Rick said, the sadness in his voice was palpable.

The man seemed to relax a bit, maybe from the raw emotion in Rick’s voice that he hadn't bother to hide or maybe something in his eyes. “Well, say goodbye then.”

Rick looked up at the face he couldn't make eye contact with since the first glance with a raised brow, confusion evident on his face. “Wh-what?”

The man rolled his eyes and grunted, “Say goodbye so I can go back to sleep already.”

“How? You haven't told me where he is-- wait, what?” Rick's eyes grew wide and his heart started beating fast and hard enough he was sure his ribs would break. “L-Lee? Stanley?”

“I mostly go by Stan now.” He gave Rick a sort of weird look before settling back to irritated and sleepy.

“You're not dead… Y-y-you're not dead,” Rick whispered, in utter disbelief.

Stan shrugged, scratching his stomach. “Yeah, nope. Still kicking. Faked my death. Can't do that anymore since my brother returned and took his identity back that I was using.”

Everything was spinning and it felt like the world fell away from under his feet. He stumbled forward, and wrapped his lanky arms instinctively around Stan, falling into his broad chest. He clung to that thick neck and leaned against the body Rick never expected to feel again. He prided himself on his abilities to keep things like emotions at bay but he couldn't. Not now. Not with Lee, alive, warm against him again.

Rick had silent tears streaming down his face, body trembling slightly, face pressed against a broad shoulder, drenching the strap of the dirty fabric and skin there. “I-I-I thought you w-were dead... I believe it... for-for years, decades, that it was-- that it was my fault.” Rick stuttered out, words muffled.

Stan didn't know what to do. This weird looking guy in a stained lab coat shows up at his door in the wee hours of the morning looking for him and starts hugging him and getting his shoulder wet when he finds out he didn't kick the bucket. He awkwardly laid a big hand on the trembling back of the crying man, patting it gently. “Uh, there, there?”

Rick pulled back, swiping furiously at his face to get rid of his body's betrayal of weakness. He looked angry, really angry, and hurt. “It's me, Lee! I-It’s Rick Sanchez!” Rick said, imploringly.

_Rick Sanchez, Rick Sanchez, Rick.. San...chez…_ Stan's thoughts stuttered as his forgotten memories rushed to the forefront of his mind. 

It was like a old film, like a bunch of old films clips were slapped together, playing at breakneck speed in his mind:

_A snippet of a young, skinny punk sitting across a seedy dive bar, shooting back shots and laughing in an obnoxious drunk way._

_Sitting in the passenger's seat of the Stanmobile, black boots kicked up on the dash as he smoked a cigarette, a content smile on his face._

_Playing in a band with a bird man and an anthropomorphic cat. Drenched in sweat and looking straight at Stan before leaving the stage, a cocky, happy smirk on his lips._

_Laughing maniacally as they ran from the cops. Crazy blue hair swept back, eyes glinting dangerously._

_Chewing Stan out as the young punk bandaged a wound on Stan’s arm._

_Laying next to him in bed._

_Kissing him, holding him, as they sat under the stars._

_Walking out the door of the motel room they shared for the last time._

It all came flooding back and he felt the wind knocked out of him as his heart skipped a beat.

“R-Rick? Is that really you?” Stan asked, unsure if this was reality or his mind was breaking.

The relieved, almost reverent, grin that graced Rick's face was something otherworldly. His eyes were red, a bit puffy, and held back fresh tears.

“Y-Yeah, Lee baby, it's me. It's really me,” Rick said, voice more hoarse than he'd have liked. 

Stan gathered him up in his big arms, hugging him tight, tight enough to make the other grunt but made no move to get free, instead wrapping his arms around Stan like he was never going to let go.

“So, what happened to the ice cream you were suppose ta get?” Stan asked, unshed tears in his eyes as he casually teased.

Rick snorted and laughed, shrugging his shoulders but not letting go of the man he held. “Th-they ran out, Lee. Can you, can you fucking believe it?”

Stan chuckled and kissed Rick's temple, happy to have more of his missing memories back and even happier to have his lost love in his arms. “Heh, yeah, I can believe it. Let's go in, punk. We got some catching up to do.”

They untangled from their embrace enough to walk inside, holding hands, afraid that if they let go the other would disappear. After all this time, neither one was willing to leave the other's side.

Booze was once used to forget his regrets. Now it's what helped Rick get a second chance at fixing one of his biggest regrets. Liquid amnesia and liquid courage, two halves of the same bottle.


End file.
